Chương 4: Chapter 3 — Forever Young and Beautiful

Chelsea's hand shot to her hairline. For one desperate moment, she expected to find nothing unusual. Her fingers should've found hair, skin, and the same head she'd woken up with that morning. Instead, they brushed something hard. Chelsea cried out and staggered back. Horns curved from the crown of her skull, following the shape of her head before rising into sharp points.

"No. No, no, no…" Her voice broke to a whisper.

"This isn't real. What did you do to me?" She tried to steady her breathing, but another thought struck her. Wings. Tails. Every movie and game she'd mocked Amber for flashed through her mind with sudden and terrible relevance. Trembling, she decided to test for them without looking. Looking would make it real too quickly. She focused inward, searching for muscles she didn't remember having. At first, she felt nothing. A small sigh escaped her. To be sure, she reached behind her skirt.

Her fingers brushed smooth, alien flesh. Chelsea gasped, but before she could recoil, her palm grazed something else. Folded wings rested against her back, tense and unfamiliar, anchored lower than she'd expected. That broke what little strength she had left. Chelsea dropped to her knees and sobbed while the murmuring crowd faded into the background. Robes shifted. People whispered. Someone moved nearby, but none of it mattered. Everything she thought she was had been ripped away, and she had no idea what remained.

Time slipped around her. She couldn't tell how long she stayed there before a voice finally reached her, gentle but firm.

"Miss Chelsea," the speaker said, stressing her name oddly and drawing out the sea. She lifted her tear-blurred eyes. Alexi crouched beside her, his face softened with something close to pity. Up close, she noticed details she'd missed before. His brown hair was cut short, tired creases marked the corners of his eyes, and the ornate robes didn't quite hide the bookish air clinging to him. He looked less like a grand magus now and more like someone who'd spent most of his life buried in study.

He extended a hand toward her.

"Would you mind coming with us?" Chelsea stared at it, her breath still hitching. Then, with a shaky swipe across her wet cheeks, she reached out and let him pull her to her feet. Everyone in this world seemed larger. Taller, broader, and more certain in their own bodies. Even the women carried themselves with a height Chelsea wasn't used to back home. She'd always been on the short side on Earth, but she'd never felt this small before.

Here, every doorway, person, and piece of furniture seemed to remind her that her body had changed. The sensation deepened when she noticed her socks. They flopped against her heels with every step, loose where they should've been snug. A chill moved through her as she dared a glance downward. Did my feet shrink? From her perspective, several things about her body had changed. The corridor they walked through was long and lined with sconces that cast flickering shadows across old stone walls.

Their steps echoed in the silence, but before Chelsea could get lost staring at the endless hallway, they turned almost immediately into a side room. It was cozy compared to the cathedral, though still intimidating. Three long couches formed a circle around a low table. A tray of delicate teacups sat beside a porcelain teapot painted with intricate gold patterns, the sort of thing Chelsea wouldn't have dared touch back home in case it shattered under her fingers.

Jess and Alexi had already seated themselves on two of the couches. A servant girl lingered in the corner with her hands folded neatly in front of her, while two armed guards flanked the door with sharp, unblinking eyes. Every gaze shifted to Chelsea the moment she entered.

"Ah, Chelsea," the man who'd been addressed as Excellency said warmly, again overemphasizing the sea in her name. He gestured with an open palm to the empty couch across from him.

"Please, join us. Have a seat." Chelsea's eyes darted around the room and stopped when she realized the translator was missing. Her stomach sank. Without him, she had no voice. She could only listen and hope they didn't forget she couldn't answer. Alexi adjusted his robes and leaned back on the couch beside Jess, who looked as though she still hadn't shaken off what she'd seen. Chelsea crossed the room slowly. When she reached the couch, she hesitated. She didn't know how to sit.

Her tail twitched against the back of her skirt and pressed into the cushion before she even lowered herself. She tried to move it the way she'd move an arm or leg, but the unfamiliar muscles refused to obey properly. Panic prickled over her skin. Finally, she gave up and reached behind herself, fumbling until she managed to push the tail awkwardly out of the way. Then her right wing caught the couch back, shoving against it suddenly and nearly tipping her sideways.

She flailed, caught herself just in time, adjusted the tail again, and lowered herself onto the seat with as much dignity as she could manage. Her cheeks burned. She didn't dare look at their faces. She didn't have to. She could feel the leader's eyes on her, appraising and weighing. At length, he said, in a tone caught between astonishment and concern, "You really aren't a demon." Chelsea's head snapped up. She shook it vigorously, desperate to affirm the truth.

"I see," he murmured, voice growing heavier as concern settled over his expression.

"Let's begin properly. I am King Paul the Third, ruler of the kingdom you now find yourself in. As was explained earlier, we summoned you in hopes you could assist in solving a problem." He sighed.

"Unfortunately, it does not appear that will be possible." A knock at the door interrupted him. The king straightened.

"Enter." The door clicked open. A young man stepped in with his arms full of books. His clothes had a scholarly cut that reminded Chelsea vaguely of renaissance fairs she'd gone to once or twice. He couldn't have been much older than she was, maybe eighteen or nineteen. His glasses caught the light as he began, "You called for me, fath…" His eyes fell on Chelsea, and he stopped dead.

"Roderick, yes," King Paul said, rising slightly from his seat. He gestured toward Chelsea.

"Miss Chelsea, this is Prince Roderick, my third son." Then he turned back to the boy.

"I understand you are the one who taught Lord Ahra the Bontune he knows? Does that mean you are more proficient than he?" Roderick's eyes flicked between Chelsea and his father, trying to understand what he'd walked into. Finally, he answered, "Yes, Father. I learned it for fun when I was nine. I now teach classes. It is a rare language in our kingdom, so I am the…"

"Very good," the king cut in smoothly, halting his son before he could ramble further. His tone remained polite, but it ended the explanation cleanly. He leaned forward slightly, his robes whispering against the couch, and filled Roderick in on everything. The summoning. The circle. Chelsea's sudden transformation. At that, Roderick's shoulders eased. His expression shifted from startled tension to something almost relieved. Chelsea's stomach twisted. Why is that the part that calms him down?

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. She searched their faces, but none of them seemed horrified, confused, or even skeptical that she'd been turned from a human into whatever this was. A demon. They treated it as something strange but possible, another problem to sort through rather than an impossibility. That wasn't a thing. That shouldn't be a thing. Yet no one seemed shaken except her.

"With that said," the king continued, "you will need to translate her words for us. For some reason, she can understand every word we say, but she can only speak in Bontune."

"I understand, Father," Roderick replied, already sliding into his role. He crossed the room and settled on the couch beside the king, his books balanced neatly on his lap. The king's gaze turned back to Chelsea.

"Please, Miss Chelsea, say something for Roderick, so we can ensure he can understand you properly." Her mouth went dry. She smoothed her skirt nervously, wings twitching at her back.

"Um, hi. It's nice to meet you. My name is Chelsea. Please, I don't really understand what's going on." Roderick echoed her with only a breath of difference.

"Um, hello. It's a pleasure to meet you. I am Chelsea. Please, I don't quite grasp what is happening." Chelsea blinked, then nodded quickly. Close enough. The king inclined his head, satisfied.

"As you know, you have been summoned." He folded his hands on his knee, his rings catching the candlelight.

"Allow me to explain what that means." Chelsea braced herself.

"For us, the process began with gathering resources." He paused.

"Artifacts of great power, relics with histories longer than our kingdom itself." He gestured slightly toward Alexi, whose still posture carried the smug pride of someone clever enough to have accomplished what everyone else had failed to do.

"Our head magus then created a summoning circle. The specifics of that magic are beyond my comprehension, but rest assured, he knew what he was doing." Chelsea thought she understood the basic idea. Circle, chant, light show, then an otherworlder appeared. The king, however, continued with the steady patience of someone explaining a formal process.

"The circle does not act alone. It draws power from the artifacts and sends a request to the god Magalesa. She either approves such a call or ignores it. In the kingdom's vast history, not once have we been graced with a response." His eyes lingered on Chelsea.

"You are our first." Her pulse quickened.

"To continue," he said, clearing his throat, "the god selects a person of value, a champion from another world. How she chooses them, or which world she chooses from, remains a mystery. What we do know is this. At some point in the summoning process, great power and enhancements are bestowed upon the chosen. It is expected that they arrive prepared." The words lodged in Chelsea's chest. Expected. The way he said it made her feel defective, as though she'd been delivered broken.

The king sighed then, a slow exhale that seemed to take strength from his shoulders. With a small nod, he beckoned the servant girl. She moved quickly, nearly tripping over her plain brown skirts as she approached the table with a tray. First, she set a porcelain cup and saucer before the king, then repeated the process for Jess, Roderick, Alexi, and finally Chelsea. The cups clinked softly, delicate and thin, their painted rims shimmering faintly in the firelight. Steam curled upward as the servant poured.

The rich brown liquid filled the king's cup first before she moved clockwise around the circle. The aroma hit Chelsea's nose, stronger and more bitter than the tea she knew. The girl returned the pot to the center, fumbled through a quick, unsteady curtsy, and retreated to her corner with her eyes downcast. Chelsea stared at the cup before her. The surface rippled faintly, disturbed by the tiny tremor in her hands.

"That's where the trouble lies. Our assessor reviewed your stats and noticed a major problem." The king's tone was careful now. He watched Chelsea over the rim of his teacup. Chelsea cut him off before he could continue, her voice sharp with panic.

"I saw it too. It says I'm an infernal hellspawn." Roderick repeated her words, voice steady as he translated. The king's brow creased in puzzlement.

"Well, yes, of course it does," the king replied slowly.

"You're a demon. That's not the problem. You have a soul-marked ailment." He paused when Chelsea's confusion showed on her face, and his explanation came softer.

"An ailment is a negative status condition. If you're poisoned, you receive an ailment indicating you're poisoned. Usually, by potions, magic, or time, you can remove them. Soul-marked means it's ingrained in who you are. It can't be removed." Chelsea's stomach tightened. The words ingrained and can't be removed felt too permanent.

"What does mine say? I didn't get that far when she touched me," she asked, voice shaky, fingers worrying at the edge of her sleeve. Roderick translated with careful syllables.

"Yours is called 'Forever Young and Beautiful,'" Alexi announced. His tone was clinical but edged with something close to awkward pride, as though naming the ailment were both diagnosis and marvel. Chelsea blinked.

"That doesn't sound so bad," she managed, forcing a small, brittle laugh while she waited for the translation to echo back to the others. Alexi leaned forward, lowering his voice.

"Sweetheart, you can't level." Chelsea stared at him. Level? Her mind skittered to video games, to Amber's taunts, and for a ridiculous second she pictured a progress bar that would never move.

"You're stuck at level one," he continued, eyes flicking to the assessor as if seeking confirmation.

"But something unusual is happening with the ailment. It vaguely says it grants high levels of health regeneration. Also… this is odd, your mana, rage, stamina, and even experience can be converted into health. It's an extremely uncommon skill called 'near immortality,' which, as far as I know, has never been linked to an ailment before." Chelsea felt lightheaded. Part of her wanted to feel relieved. Being hard to kill should've been good.

But the rest of the sentence kept circling back to one fact she couldn't escape. She was fixed at level one, forever, and the thought gnawed at her.

"It's the leveling part that is so concerning, though," King Paul interjected. He set his cup down with a soft clink.

"Being unable to level doesn't just affect raw attributes. Many aspects of our world require meeting certain level thresholds. For example, skills. After a certain point, things like crafting cannot advance without the person's overall level increasing. At level one, that threshold is very low." He nodded to Alexi for clarification, eyes ringed with tired calculation. Alexi didn't hesitate.

"Yes. Most skills plateau at level three. After that, complex disciplines… enchanting, alchemy, blacksmithing… require your overall level to reach three to unlock the next tier of skill progression. But since you can't level, you can't reach those thresholds." He said it matter-of-factly. To him, it was numbers. To Chelsea, it sounded as though every possible path forward had narrowed at once. Her hands trembled against her knees.

"So, I'm worthless to you. Can I just go home then?" Desperation crept into her voice. She swallowed hard, eyes darting to Roderick for any hint of mercy in the translation. The king lifted his cup to his lips, took a measured sip, then set it down.

"No." The single syllable hit harder than it should've. Chelsea's head snapped up, breath hitching.

"But why? If I can't become stronger, you said it yourself, I'm going to be unable to solve your problem." Her words came faster now, edged with pleading. Every gaze in the room settled on her. Roderick's jaw worked as he prepared to translate, and in the pause that followed, Chelsea realized the answer she wanted wasn't only tactical. It felt as though it might decide the shape of her entire life.

"You are useful in other ways," Alexi replied carefully, as though trying to convince both her and himself.

"Your knowledge from your world is surely of a much higher complexity than ours. The summoning I created was intended for someone of high intellect and high morals." He paused, lips pressing together before he added, "Also, you have an enhancement." Chelsea's eyes snapped to him. The word enhancement caught in the air between them. Alexi flinched, shoulders tightening as though her attention alone were a physical threat.

"Sorry," he stammered quickly, "not used to speaking with demons." Her stomach twisted. Was she really that frightening to look at? The ailment had been called Forever Young and Beautiful. Beautiful. Surely she didn't look like some monster out of a nightmare.

"I'm guessing an enhancement is the opposite of an ailment?" she asked cautiously, unable to keep hope from her voice.

"What is it?" Roderick translated, and Alexi's nervous glance slid toward Jess. Jess shifted uncomfortably before answering for him.

"It's… unclear," she said, her tone clipped with professional restraint.

"It only shows there is a soul-marked enhancement, but not what it does." Chelsea blinked. She'd been given one potential good thing, and even that refused to explain itself.

"So it could be anything?" she pressed, her voice tight with curiosity and dread.

"Indeed," the king replied, his tone calm, almost comforting, though there was weight behind it.

"I was hoping our assessor could teach you how to see your own status information so we can learn what it says." He paused, letting a faint chuckle escape.

"It could even explain why you were changed to a demon." Chelsea blinked. Humor. In this situation. She wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or scream. Part of her hated that the king could treat this as a quaint puzzle.

"Okay. How do I do it?" she asked, trying to steady her voice. The assessor stood and sat next to Chelsea with cautious, precise movements. First, she demonstrated the process herself, guiding Chelsea's gaze toward faint shimmering lines in the air that only the magically attuned could see. Then she began instructing her step by step, her voice measured and careful. Chelsea leaned in, trying to focus while letting her mind relax at the same time.

The effort felt contradictory, and the rising panic in her chest didn't help. She forced herself to keep watching for every flicker and subtle pulse of unseen text. Slowly, the words formed in her vision.

Status Name: Chelsea Drake ▸ Race: Infernal Hellspawn Demon Class: — Profession: — Title: — Level: 1 (Fixed) Attributes Physical • Strength: 1 • Dexterity: 1 • Constitution: 5 • Stamina: 2 Mental • Intelligence: 3 • Wisdom: 2 • Psyche: 4 Social • Charisma: 6 • Luck: 2 Abilities Passive • Fireproof (Racial) • Attract (Racial) • Bloodlust Active • Instinctive Control (Racial) Enhancements • Slot 1: [Locked] (Soul-Marked — Cannot be removed) Ailments • Forever Young and Beautiful (Soul-Marked — Cannot be removed) System Notice: User progression has been restricted.